Wanderers of a Lonely World
by runningfromexplosions
Summary: "Suppose the reaper came to you on the boat to lead you to the world beyond. Would you agree to go with him?" Hannigram, post S3 Finale (Wrath of the Lamb), with a twist.
1. After the Fall

The moment they fell, Will surrendered himself and Hannibal to chance. Whatever happened to them was no longer Will's design, or Hannibal's. It was a gamble with mortality, destiny's roll of the dice.

The pair nearly broke apart from each other during the fall. Their entrance into the water was like hitting a layer of glass, which shattered upon impact, splashing fragments into the air. Saltwater entered their open wounds, stinging like fine shards. Through the pain, the two of them tried to stay together, grabbing desperate fistfuls of each other's shirts as bubbles and clouds of blood encased their bodies. They sunk surprisingly deep despite having fallen so close to the ocean's edge. The soothing darkness of the water below invited them to embrace death. It would have been easy to let themselves drown.

Hannibal was not one for accepting the easy option.

They were going to live, he decided; he would make sure of it. He finally had all that he wanted for himself and for Will, and he was not about to let the water take it away from him. Hannibal started to fight towards the surface, kicking determinedly. Will sensed that Hannibal was trying to pull them upward. He released his grip on Hannibal, who did likewise so each could make use of his arms, and joined him in swimming until both of them broke surface, taking great breaths of the air they may never have tasted again.

"I admire your effort, Will, but it will take more than that to kill me," Hannibal teased, still catching his breath. Will made a small choke of a laugh in response.

"I can't kill you, Hannibal," said Will, "Not when fate has a record of letting you live."

"Then let's not give fate a reason to change its mind," said Hannibal, looking up at the cliff they had fallen from, "We're both targets now. We can't be sure when the enemy will reach us."

Will nodded. He treaded water and looked along the cliff side. A cove was scooped out of the land nearby, its shape still distinct in the darkness. Will looked back at Hannibal, who met his gaze. _Over there._

They swam, struggling with the little energy that remained in them. The instinct to survive was strong enough to temporarily allow them to fight through the pain, though not enough to completely overcome fatigue. Will found himself slowing down as he approached the shore, but he still managed to stand up, clumsily, when the water became shallow enough. He gave himself a couple seconds to find his balance before turning to check on Hannibal. He saw the water, and then nothing.

" _Hannibal!"_

A form bobbed in the moonlit water, only to be swallowed up again by the next wave. Panic sent Will stumbling back into the ocean. His strokes were wild; his frantic kicks rocked his body to either side. He had to get to Hannibal, even if it meant playing a deadly game with risk again.

Will had wanted to kill Hannibal before, to prove his understanding of him—after all, Hannibal would have done the same. When Dolarhyde had burst in on them at the house, Will became curious to see the Dragon change Hannibal. Yet once the transformation was in progress and Hannibal was bleeding on the floor, Will envisioned himself on the night he had rejected Hannibal's offer for family. He saw himself in a slick of blood, his and Abigail's, the cut in his middle oozing with red. And then his cut became Hannibal's cut, and he became Hannibal, and the reality of Hannibal now in Will's position replaced the memory. That was when Will realized Hannibal Lecter's life had to be _his_. He couldn't let Dolarhyde take him. If that selfishness meant returning Hannibal's feelings, Will supposed, they couldn't continue to be separated.

After what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, Will wrapped an arm around Hannibal's body. He swam back to land, carrying Hannibal with him. When he reached the point where he could stand again, he dragged Hannibal to shore, holding him under the arms and around the chest, setting him down on the sand. Will kneeled at his companion's side and gently turned the other man's head to face him. Hannibal's eyes were closed. Will slid his fingers down Hannibal's jaw to a point on the neck where he intended to check for a pulse, but simply rested his hand there instead when he heard ragged breathing. Hannibal coughed up the fortunately small amount of water he had inhaled and opened his eyes wearily.

"Will," he rasped, reaching out his own hand to cover Will's.

"We made it."

Hannibal let go of Will's hand to reach an arm around Will's back, and Will repositioned his arm over Hannibal's shoulder. They stood up together, steadying each other, clothing sticking to the outlines of their skin, hair sending droplets down their faces. After a few steps, Hannibal leaned heavier into Will's side and Will took it as a sign that Hannibal was not ready to walk very far. They headed for a nearby group of brown boulders that appeared to have once been part of the bluffs. Hannibal slid out of Will's touch and selected a relatively smooth boulder to lie against. Will sat next to him, and laid his head back against the same boulder. Hannibal turned to look at Will. Will did not look back at him, but up toward the sky.

"It's going to rain," he said plainly, and fell silent. He didn't move, only continuing to look at the grey clouds overhead. They both sat there for a few minutes, taking in the scent of the ocean and the moisture in the air and the feel of the sand underneath them, simply appreciating all the things that meant being alive.

"We should find a place for shelter." Hannibal finally broke the silence. He got up, and Will followed, and they walked along the shore at the pace exhaustion limited them to, for an amount of time neither of them was sure of.

They had just begun to feel the first drops of rain when they saw it a distance away. A small, empty cave, their salvation. The rain built in intensity, but neither of the men had the strength to run through it. They let it wash over them until they were able to walk through the mouth of the cave. They sat down inside, facing each other. Will began to shiver with cold, and Hannibal felt the cold start to affect him as well. Hannibal stood up and tugged his shirt over his head.

"To best avoid hypothermia, we should remove our wet clothing and use each other for body heat," he explained.

"I wasn't aware that our relationship had reached that point," said Will, trying to be as poker-faced as possible.

"What point would that be?"

"What point are you _wanting_ it to be?"

Hannibal looked Will directly in the eyes. "You're being juvenile, Will."

Will broke their eye contact and looked down at his shirt, which water had made translucent against his skin. He proceeded to unbutton it, somehow nervous that Hannibal could be watching him, but when he looked up, Hannibal was sitting with his head bowed, wearing only his trousers, which he had rolled up to his knees. It was an uncharacteristically passive look for him.

"I hope you are not too uncomfortable," Hannibal said.

"'Uncomfortable' was my default state for a long time. But I wouldn't say that's how I'm feeling right now." Will dropped his bloodstained shirt on the sand, then worked on removing his shoes and socks.

"That's reassuring to know."

"What I'm feeling right now," Will continued, "Is relief, mostly."

"You don't regret leaving your old life behind?"

"...I don't know. _You_ certainly wouldn't, in my position."

"I find regret to be an inconvenience. It too often gets in the way of progress, so I allow myself to feel very little of it. Such is not the case with you, Will. You may find yourself wishing for your wife and stepson, at the same time knowing you can never return to them."

"Life with Molly and Walter was good most of the time," said Will, returning to his position across from Hannibal, "And I would be lying if I said that I didn't love them. But sometimes our life together felt scripted, like I had to pretend to be someone else. I could only allow them to see the part of me they could accept. It wasn't fair to them. When I went back into the field, it was practically a countdown until the rest of me would show itself."

"If they were to look at you now, what do you think they would see differently?"

"They would see..." Will paused, deep in thought. "They would see you, Hannibal."

Hannibal smiled.

"We see our beloved in ourselves, and those who love us in return see themselves reflected back. To truly connect to another person is to be able to see them through both a window and a mirror." He reached out to caress Will's unscarred cheek.

"I see myself when I look at you, Will."

Will didn't know what to say after that. He looked over Hannibal, whose eyes were the most honest they had ever been. Although Hannibal was an expert user of deception, Will could now often see underneath the mask of his facial expressions, knowing Hannibal's true nature as the Chesapeake Ripper. This time there wasn't a mask. Hannibal looked genuine; this man who would think of himself as the equal of a devil or a god (there being no distinction in his mind between them) looked so _human_. And yet, he was a monster of a man who had torn down victim after victim, physically, psychologically, or in Will's case, both. The difference between Will Graham and any other victim was that Graham had evolved to become Lecter's equal. Will could now manipulate Hannibal as much as Hannibal could manipulate him. Hannibal knew this, but it provoked a fascination in him instead of paranoia. Will was a venomous temptation.

"Hannibal," said Will. He moved in to close the gap between them, his hand sliding over one shoulder, head resting on the other, gently embracing Hannibal. "We're still bleeding."

"I know."

Will broke away, slowly. He picked up his rain-soaked shirt from behind him.

"Here, let me..."

Will kneeled in front of Hannibal and leaned over him to tie the shirt around his waist, covering the injury Hannibal had sustained from Francis Dolarhyde's bullet.

"...for stopping the blood. It's the best we can do with what we have."

"You're also injured," Hannibal reminded him. "Are you hurting?"

"No, it doesn't really hurt anymore."

"Pain is the body's response to a threat. Sometimes the brain can rewire itself to temporarily ignore the danger signals in moments after serious trauma. A phenomenon known as neuroplasticity." Hannibal pressed one of his hands over the part of the shirt that now covered his injury. "I'm not in pain either, but doing what we can to treat our injuries is still imperative. Here—" He tossed his own shirt to Will with his other hand. "You gave me yours, so use mine."

"Thanks," Will said, holding Hannibal's shirt to the knife wound by his shoulder and transitioning into a position on his back.

Hannibal mirrored Will's movements so that they were lying next to each other on the sand. He cautiously reached for Will's hand, unsure of the other man's comfort level, but Will firmly and confidently grasped Hannibal's hand and entwined their fingers.

They relaxed like that for a while. When Hannibal turned his head to see how Will was doing, he saw that his companion had fallen asleep.

Will was a masterpiece, Hannibal thought. Hannibal had broken Jack's 'fragile little teacup' and watched as Will came back together as something even more appealing than before. It could be said that Will was reborn as a work of _kintsukuroi,_ Japanese pottery repaired with gold where it had been cracked apart. Will was unique as far as art was concerned because he had repaired and reformed himself without an artist. Hannibal may have struck the match in Will's Becoming, but Will had to rise out of the ashes on his own.

Will Graham's mind was a boundless field of imagination. His extraordinary capacity for empathy allowed him to mirror the most disturbed and unconventional thinkers. Hannibal had wanted to devour that fascinating mind. If he couldn't have Will, he would have absorbed him by eating his brain. But it was Will who had consumed Hannibal. Will had ripped a space for himself in Hannibal's being, where there was now a weakness. The only other person for whom Hannibal had felt anything close to that weakness was Mischa, but Will was not her replacement; Will was not like a sibling.

Hannibal had felt attraction to other people—men, women, it didn't matter—but before Will he had he never desired to be understood so completely by another human being. Just being able to see Will, to _touch_ Will, was an indulgence. Hannibal was trapped, inescapably, in an untamable sensation between longing and pleasure. He was entranced by not only the artistic mind, but the physical beauty of Will, and he saw this in the affection-blinded way that made Will's imperfections irrelevant.

Hannibal felt perfectly content as he watched Will sleep, observing the scars marking the man's body, (some of which Hannibal had carved himself), watching the subtle the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the quiet breaths leaving his slightly parted mouth. Will's hair was a tangled mess, the cut in his cheek painted with drying blood,and to Hannibal he couldn't have looked more beautiful. He was the perfect final image for Hannibal to see before drifting into sleep.


	2. Realization

A ray of morning sun slid over the rocks on the side of the cave and cut over Hannibal's face, waking him. Hannibal sat up, blinking in the light, and searched around him to discover that Will was no longer there.

Through the cave's mouth, it was possible to see the shoreline. The rolling greys of yesterday's weather had been wiped away and repainted with oranges and pinks that bled into the white of the sand and the reflective surface of the water. At the very edge of the water was Will. He stood there casually, now wearing Hannibal's shirt, which was large on him, as the sleeves touched his fingers. The light wind tossed his dark curls playfully. He seemed peaceful, letting the tide just touch his toes before it crawled back again.

Hannibal headed over to Will. The breeze carried Will's scent to Hannibal's sensitive nose—salt, blood, and (thank goodness) no more terrible aftershave. Will was aware of Hannibal approaching him but he didn't bother to make any kind of acknowledgement. He could hear the soft sound of the sand shifting with each step Hannibal took. When the sound stopped, he could see Hannibal standing at his side through his peripheral vision.

"I thought I saw a boat off in the distance," Will said, breaking the silence. "Nothing elaborate. A lonely, plain wooden boat with no one in it. It reminded me of death."

"How so?" Hannibal asked.

"The ancient Greeks believed that the dead journeyed to the underworld on a boat traveling down the river Styx. Similarly, the ancient Egyptians believed that their pharaohs rode on the boat of the sun god to the afterlife. I wonder about that empty boat, and what kind of afterlife it leads to."

"What is called a 'watery grave,' I would assume. Water grants us life, but it can steal it away as well. We consume it, knowing that it could consume us if we were to drown."

"You certainly have interesting ideas about consumption," Will commented. Hannibal smiled at the subtle cannibal pun.

"Back to the boat. Suppose the reaper came to you on the boat to lead you to the world beyond. Would you agree to go with him?"

"No."

"Nor would I. I don't believe that the afterlife would grant me anything more valuable than what life already has. I would rather continue existence on my own terms than that of any kind of supposed divine judgment, wandering the earth as I please."

"What would you do if I was taken on the boat regardless of my choice?"

"I would do everything in my power to bring you back to land with me," said Hannibal, sincerely. "If I were taken away, would you do the same?"

"I would," he answered. "We are...a pair of deviant souls. Tethered to each other by an invisible rope. We can't survive far apart from each other, the way we are now."

Will finally stopped looking across the sea and faced Hannibal. Their eyes met. Hannibal felt like he was falling into the water again through the blues and greens of Will's eyes. Perhaps this was why Will had been afraid of eye contact. It was a very vulnerable feeling to stare into someone and for them to stare back, like mirrors reflecting off each other into infinity. For an empath it must be like losing oneself into a black hole. But Will had at last allowed Hannibal to draw him in, and he was no longer afraid.

In that gaze, that shared moment, they knew. The hidden truths of the subconscious rushed to the surface, and they remembered.

* * *

Ten hours previous

* * *

 _Jack Crawford shoved his way through the maze of emergency vehicles and personnel. The red and blue lights that flashed around him reflected off puddles to light a pathway through the dark. Jack saw a group of EMTs to his left, and to his right was Freddie Lounds, searching through pictures on her camera as she leaned against the side of her car. She looked at him warily as he passed, and he gave her a warning glare, but he didn't have the resolve to shout at her then. His agenda was elsewhere. Ahead, Jack could see the men he was looking for having a conversation with each other._

 _"You two!" he shouted. Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller stopped talking at once and looked at Jack, slightly confused._

 _"Jack? I thought that social worker back at HQ told you not to come," said Zeller._

 _"Yeah, well, I have my own ideas about how to handle myself, so too late. I'm already here. Now tell me, where are they?"_

 _"You mean the bodies?" asked Price, his usual enthusiasm for investigation missing from his voice._

 _"No, I mean the Three Stooges. Of course I mean the bodies! I want to see them."_

 _"We've already confirmed their identities, Jack," Zeller said solemnly. "There isn't any question who—"_

 _"I know, I just want to see them with my own eyes. So I can finally get some goddamn sleep at night."_

 _"Personally, I think I'm going to lose sleep over this," Price said, and Zeller nodded in agreement._

 _"_ I _won't," Jack asserted. "Please, just tell me where they are."_

 _"They're being loaded into the ambulance right now," Zeller explained._

 _"So stall it a minute!"_

 _The scientists complied and led Jack to the ambulance. The three FBI men ducked under the yellow tape squaring off the section of land on which the recently deceased had been found. The ground was stained with blood that rain had smeared like a runny, morbid watercolor._

 _Price approached one of the EMTs standing outside the ambulance and said a few words to her. She gestured to another technician to stop loading the first stretcher. Zeller unzipped the end of the body bag on the stretcher. Price walked over to stand at his side. He shone a flashlight over the gap in the bag and made a motion for Jack to come over._

 _Jack felt a bit triumphant as he observed the first corpse's face— he recognized the man as a murderer. Jack nodded when he wanted to move to the next body. The feeling of victory was even stronger when he saw the face of the second corpse. This man's death was far more personal. That was two less nightmares for the world to be haunted by, he thought._

 _Jack spent a little longer looking at the third corpse's face. He felt conflicted, not sure if he should feel proud or guilty or mournful or even relieved. He turned his face away, not wanting to be carried aloft by his own emotions. Will had been swept away in this manner, and given how that had played out, Jack was determined to anchor himself._

 _"Are we good?" Zeller asked._

 _"Yes," Jack almost whispered. Zeller carefully closed the zipper over the face of the third body. Price clicked off his flashlight and sighed._

 _"It was difficult when we...lost...Beverly. And this isn't easier," Price said emptily. Zeller placed a hand on his friend's shoulder._

 _"I guess this is our goodbye to Will Graham."_

* * *

Present

* * *

"We _died_ , Hannibal," said Will, "We never jumped off the cliff. I put my arm around you and dragged you down with me. But we didn't make it over the cliff's edge. We fell onto the rocks where we bled out."

"I remember now. Our bodies fell one way, and then we fell the opposite way into the water. Curiously, I feel no different than I did alive. Warm blood still runs through me and I breathe the air."

"Most people would expect death to be different from life. But maybe it really isn't that different. We're still in the same place on earth, but it's like we occupy a different plane of existence."

"We are our true eternal forms. To living people we would probably be ghosts, but to each other we are flesh and blood."

"We still have our old injuries."

"Perhaps our injuries are only imagined, like after-images of life. I theorized that our brains had been working around our pain, but there was another option that I didn't consider. That there was no pain in the first place. In this state, I think, our minds and bodies are even more interwoven. We thought we were still in our living bodies, so our old wounds were projected."

Will felt his cheek. Nothing. He pulled off the shirt he had borrowed from Hannibal (the imagined copy of it, anyway). There was no evidence that Dolarhyde had stabbed him. Hannibal unwrapped the makeshift bandage that had been around his waist. Bare, unmarked skin. Not a mark on either of them.

Will thought about what Hannibal had said about their minds being able to change their appearance, metaphysical forms being less constrained than mortal forms. He imagined himself in a comfortable pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and shoes. They blinked into existence on his body, and his old clothes vanished. Will saw Hannibal had caught on and changed into a leather jacket, jeans, and boots, all of which he looked unfairly good in. Show-off.

Hannibal caught Will staring at him. "Something wrong?"

"No. It...um...looks fine."

"Why don't we go home?" Hannibal suggested. "I'll cook lunch. That is, if you don't have any plans already."

"None at all," said Will. "I'm available for the rest of today...and forever."

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, I know that technically this fic should have the "supernatural" label but that would have spoiled the twist. Agh, I wanted this chapter to be longer but I didn't know where to go from here. On the plus side, more Hannigram next chapter.**


	3. Reciprocation

They saw no one else on the walk back to the house. Most people choose to move on to the afterlife, so Will and Hannibal were the only souls for miles. The world between the land of the living and the land of the dead could be a lonely place.

The more time the two of them spent in this intermediate dimension, the more they discovered about the abilities of their new forms. Wounds, for instance, were painless and healed quickly. Hannibal confirmed this, and also that dying a second time was impossible, in a very Hannibal fashion. Which is to say, he attempted murder.

When Hannibal and Will entered the house overlooking the bluff, Will collapsed in an armchair and drifted off to sleep within minutes. It would seem that even with superhuman powers, they could still get tired. Hannibal was slightly annoyed that Will hadn't said a single word to him since accepting his offer for lunch. He sensed that Will was purposefully ignoring him, which was even worse than Will trying to kill him because trying to kill someone at least means that you're giving them attention. For such a dog lover, Will could really be a cat sometimes.

Hannibal pondered the ways that he could tell Will _I know you've been ignoring me on purpose and I think I know why but I want to hear you say it._ He realized that his curiosity about their new world could be satiated while simultaneously drawing Will's attention. He would take advantage of Will's sleeping state to confirm the indestructibility of their metaphysical bodies.

Hannibal went into the kitchen, which looked the same as its counterpart in the living world as they had left it. He selected a large knife from the block and took it with him into the living room. He approached Will without the slightest hesitation. And then, suddenly, he plunged the knife directly into Will's heart. Will jerked awake.

"What—?"

The startled man looked down to see the knife handle protruding from his chest. He pulled it out and gushes of blood spilled from the opening the knife had cut in him. The blood would have kept pouring out if it hadn't started to flow back into him in something like a time reversal. The wound sealed itself and disappeared once all of the blood was back in Will's body again.

Will glared at Hannibal.

"I was almost certain that you couldn't die a second time," Hannibal explained.

Will stood up, his knuckles white as he clutched the knife handle tightly in his palm. Hannibal watched Will's hand, suspicious, but stood calmly, waiting to see what the other man would do. Will took a couple of paces forward and reached out his empty hand to clamp it onto Hannibal's shoulder. They were close enough to embrace, but the dark nature of the tension between them promised that wouldn't happen. Will leaned in with his mouth next to Hannibal's ear, close enough that Hannibal could feel the moisture of his breath. Hannibal felt cold metal press against his throat.

"You're terrible," Will whispered, before slicing through Hannibal's neck in one swift movement. Blood sprayed forth, spattering Will with dark red. Then the magic happened again. The movement reversed and every drop of blood went back into Hannibal.

"Now we're even," Will declared as Hannibal touched his resealed neck. "Tell me, Hannibal, how do you feel about a world where shapeshifting and invincibility are possible, but murder isn't?"

"We'll simply have to find a different way to hunt," Hannibal said, not succeeding in hiding a look of petulance that would have made Will laugh if it were any more childish.

"So much for 'murder husbands,'" Will joked to himself quietly. Hannibal still heard him.

"You mean what Freddie Lounds wrote about us?" Hannibal asked rhetorically. "What was your opinion of it?"

"So you saw it, too," Will said, without giving an answer.

"Yes," said Hannibal. It was unusual to hear such a short response from a man who loved talking as much as Hannibal Lecter. "Now, didn't I promise you lunch?"

It was also unusual for Hannibal to steer away from a conversation. That was more of a Will thing. Hannibal is doing this on purpose, Will thought.

"Are you sure that food exists here? If we can't die, shouldn't that mean plants and animals can't, either?"

"Fair point," Hannibal said, "But surely that knife exists here for some reason."

"Maybe we're meant to create ingredients from memory," suggested Will, "As we created our clothes from memory."

"Perhaps. I'll see what I can do," said Hannibal.

Will's idea was proven to work, as around an hour later Hannibal asked Will to take a seat at the dining table. Two glasses of a red wine were set across from each other. There were two plates to match, displaying thin overlapping slices of pink meat with darker brown edges. The meat was glazed in a sweet-smelling red sauce and served with onion and lime, all on a bed of fresh lettuce.

"It's well in the afternoon now, so I thought a dinner meal would be more appropriate," Hannibal remarked.

"It looks delicious," said Will, seating himself across from Hannibal. "What's the meat?"

"Beef," Hannibal replied as he cut his meal with the refinement of a culinarian.

Will raised an eyebrow. Hannibal raised to his mouth a fork with meat speared on it, but then he paused with the fork hovering in front of his closed lips. He smiled at Will.

"I imagined it was Francis Dolarhyde," Hannibal said casually, before taking the bite from his fork.

Will was forced to set down his own fork as giggles took hold of him. Hannibal's smile widened. When Will laughed, his eyes squinted shut, and he bowed his head as if the weight of his own grin was pulling him down.

Will returned to his meal, but Hannibal still had trouble keeping his eyes off of Will the entire time they ate. Will either didn't notice, or pretended not to notice out of self-consciousness. Hannibal suspected the latter, as something of a blush had formed across Will's face.

 _Oh. I see._ Hannibal's expression turned into a smirk.

Hannibal finished his plate before Will. He politely waited for Will to take his last bite before attempting to start a conversation again.

"You've been ignoring me, Will."

"Ah." Will stared at his empty plate.

"You're holding back from telling me about something that's bothering you." It wasn't a question.

"I, uh…" Will stood up, then Hannibal did likewise. Will continued. "It's about our last moments. Of life. As...you know...I tried to pull us over the edge, but you the collapsed on the rocks and pulled me down with you. There was something that happened after that, something you didn't know about, because we were dying and I lived a little longer than you did."

Will wandered over to the sliding glass door, which was not shattered as it had been in the other world. He leaned his forehead against it and placed a hand against the glass, as if the physical stability would ease the unsteadiness in his mind. Hannibal followed him to stand at his side.

"I had thought," Will continued, "That I couldn't live with you or without you. So the only choice I thought I had was for us to die together. It didn't work out exactly the way I wanted it to—and—I—"

Strain became audible in his voice.

"—rested my head against your chest. I—felt—your last breath—leave your body—"

"—look at me, Will."

Will unglued himself from the door and turned around. He took a long, deep breath, running a hand through his curls. He was going to do this. He looked up with confidence.

"I realized I never said out loud what we both knew to be true. The final truth told in our last moments of life, the words lingering on my tongue—I'm in love with you, Hannibal."

Hannibal was frozen.

"Hannibal?"

And then, Will saw, though Hannibal did not move, his tears certainly did. _Hannibal,_ the man known for being immaculately composed in the most harrowing of circumstances, was _crying_. Wet ribbons ran down his face, but he had a blissful expression. Will had never seen Hannibal so exposed, so unable to control his emotions before.

"Will Graham."

Hannibal chuckled weakly, muffled by his own breathlessness. He leaned into Will, closing his eyes, touching his forehead and nose against Will's.

"You know I feel the same," said Hannibal. "I love you, Will. More than anything." He broke their contact to look at Will's face again. He placed a hand around the back of Will's neck and stretched his thumb to trace it along Will's stubbly jawline. He leaned in closer, pausing with his lips hovering over Will's.

"May I?"

"No."

Before Hannibal could react, Will was kissing him, gently, tenderly, slowly letting go of Hannibal's lip to drag out the sensation before they pulled apart.

"Let _me,_ " Will said in a low, breathy voice, before leaning in to kiss Hannibal again. He slid his hands from Hannibal's shoulders and down his sides to his waist. The long, soft movements of their mouths against each other suddenly weren't enough for Hannibal. He seized Will's shirt with both hands and tugged Will toward him, but Will grabbed a fistful of the other man's hair and yanked it back, forcing their mouths apart.

" _Patience_ ," Will growled. He stepped back and took his time unbuttoning his shirt, staring at Hannibal the entire time with dilated pupils, daring him to make another move while under that predatory look. Once all buttons were undone and his shirt lay open, exposing his scarred chest, Will spoke.

"Do your worst, Doctor."

To Will's surprise, Hannibal scooped him into his arms and carried him off. Will was set down on a large, comfortable bed with maroon sheets. His head was rested on a matching pillow. Hannibal crouched over Will and looked down at him intensely. Will looked back into Hannibal's eyes and saw maroon like the sheets underneath him, and he felt like Hannibal's eyes were the bed and he was sinking into them. Will expected Hannibal to make a move, but instead, Hannibal rolled over to lie on his side.

"Got you," he said with a grin. Will twisted his head to see Hannibal propped up on his elbow and gazing at him with a confident smugness. Will looked irritated, which only boosted Hannibal's sense of satisfaction. Hannibal was using Will's own teasing tactics against him.

"Now, tell me," Hannibal said, "About how you fell in love."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Stabbing and kissing, just another day in the life of Hannigram. More fluff next chapter, and...**_ **( ͡͡ ° ͜ ʖ ͡ °) you'll see. I'm thinking maybe two more chapters to this fic.**


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